leftshark
by godblessthefandom
Summary: BrittanaAU. Brittana at the 2015 "Big Game" Half Time show. Rated T for some language. Flight of fancy based on a dream I had. Please don't take it too seriously. :)


_Not really edited. Sorry for all typos._

* * *

Santana has the seen the blonde dancer fourteen times since the Troubletones started preparing for the Super Bowl show. Yes, she's counted.

Mercedes and Sugar won't stop teasing her about the way that she gets all mumbly and fumbling whenever the blonde walks by. the way her conversation stops. The way her jaw hits the floor. It's kind of pathetic, even Santana can admit it.

But, they have a show to do. The Troubletones headlining the Super Bowl halftime show will be the biggest coup for them all year. It will be the cherry on what's been a banner year for the biggest group in pop music, and they can't afford to mess it up. So, Santana has to focus. And she can focus. Just not when Brittany is around.

It's Mercedes who finds out her name. Santana has been calling her the blonde when she asks her their other dancers about her. It's Mercedes who corners Mike Chang, their choreographer, and asks him specifically. They've hired about 20 dancers for the show, and she's one of them. The best one, if you ask Santana.

So, now Santana has a name and a face. She just needs to make the connection. But this is easier said than done. Things are absolutely bonkers, 24 hours a day as they prepare for the halftime show. And the performance is only a few days away.

So, Santana tries to focus, and is doing a pretty good job. Then Brittany will spin by, or land a pretty spectacular jumping cartwheel, or get excited when they bring ice cream for everyone after a particularly strenuous practice, and Santana will lose focus.

There are worse problems to have.

It's the fifteenth meeting when Brittany actually says her first words to Santana. Santana had been watching them practice with Mike, eyeing the movements to see when and where she was supposed to come in.

Mike is a master, he can make magic with human bodies, and Santana has always been impressed.

She tells Mercedes and Sugar that she's going to stick around so she can get a better handle on the choreography.

She's really there to watch Brittany, of course, and the other ladies know that. But today, they don't tease her.

During a break, Santana moves fluidly around the room, marking in her mind where she'd seen the dancers move, and where she is and isn't supposed to be. A quick triple step finds her flat footed, and she stumbles. Bracing herself for the fall, she's surprised when a strong arm catches her.

"Careful." A bright voice says.

Santana stands to her full height to find blue eyes close to hers. Her heart is in her throat, and she can feel it beating a mile a minutes. Her hands start to sweat. Her mouth goes dry.

"T-thanks." She manages to mumble, pulling herself away from Brittany.

"I'm Brittany, btw." Brittany smiles, extending her arm.

Santana, surprised, stands stock still for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

Suddenly, Brittany's smile fades, and she starts to turn away. "Sorry, if I bothered you."

Even a person as unsmooth with the ladies as Santana Lopez could see a prime opportunity slipping from her fingers.

She reaches out for Brittany quickly. "Wait, Brittany."

Brittany half turns, her face cocked towards Santana, who approaches, and extends her own hand.

"I'm Santana."

The bright smile returns to Brittany's face, and she bounds over to shake Santana's hand.

"I was beginning to think you were one of those stuck up pop princesses." She giggled.

If anyone else would have said it, Santana would have probably slapped them. Or had them fired. Or worse. But the words coming from Brittany's mouth seemed like the sweetest words in the world. Even if they had some bite to them.

Santana looks down at her shoes. "I was nervous."

She doesn't dare look up, her hand is still entwined in Brittany's, who begins playing with her fingers.

"Santana Lopez of the world famous Troubletones? Nervous for what?"

"You're just so pretty."

The words are out of Santana's mouth before she can stop them, and she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. She tries to pull her hand out of Brittany's. She tries to turn away before she can say anything else even more embarrassing. Brittany holds tight to her hand.

"I was thinking the same thing. That's why I caught you." Brittany's ears turn a bright red. "Not that I wouldn't have caught you if you weren't pretty. I'm not that shallow. But, I just, thought that I wanted to touch you. I mean, not that I'm a creeper that goes around touching pretty girls-"

Santana moves Brittany towards her with a pull of her hand. They crash towards each other, and are almost touching. Santana goes to say something, but the sharp yell of Mike telling everyone that the break is over drives them apart.

Without another word, and a slightly panicked look, Santana tears out of the room, leaving a confused Brittany in her wake.

\

Mercedes and Sugar laugh for a solid twenty minutes after Santana tells them about the encounter.

"A-a-and you just ran _away_?" Mercedes gasps, holding her sides.

"This was after she told her she was _so pretty_!" Sugar guffaws, flopping over the couch she's sitting on and rolling from side to side.

Santana just sits besides her friends, arms crossed and kicking herself. She shouldn't have told them.

No.

She shouldn't have told Brittany. She should have just kept her mouth closed, and waited the three days that it would have taken for her to never see Brittany again.

This idea makes Santana unbelievably sad and she grimaces a bit at the thought. Mercedes notices this and slaps Sugar, who rouses herself from the couch.

"What can we do?" Asks Mercedes, almost completely serious now.

Santana sighs. "Nothing. And I don't think there's any point in trying. She thinks I'm a freak now, and even more than that, it was probably the least smooth exit I've ever perpetrated. Just forget about it."

Mercedes and Sugar look knowingly at each other. They've both known Santana for way too long to take her words at face value. But Santana is also stubborn. If one tries to go up against her head on, they're bound to lose. So, they try a more circuitous route.

For the next three days, they all prepare, and no one has much time at all. In fact, it's probably the busiest they've ever been in their careers. There are a million things to do, and they all need doing immediately.

Santana is no busier than anyone else, but throws herself into her work, trying to forget about her faux pas. But mostly trying to forget about Brittany. But the more she works, the more she can feel Brittany's warm breath on her face. Her blue eyes gazing down at her. The warmth of her arm wrapped around Santana's body.

So, Santana does what she does best in these situations. She distracts herself with work, and avoids the problem.

Unfortunately, this means avoiding Brittany. Everyone notices. Mike asks Sugar and Mercedes what's wrong, and they only shrug and mumble incomprehensibly. It's not their place to say, of course, but it's a little obvious when the lead girl sprains her ankle, and Brittany is forced to fill in, taking over a crucial scene during the middle of the performance.

The scene is pretty dramatic, Brittany pretending to be a lost girl in the woods, surrounding by wolves, who is rescued by the feminine power of the Troubletones. Santana, Sugar and Mercedes comfort her after saving her from the wolves, and it's supposed to be very natural and calm. It's not of course, because Santana can't get within ten feet of Brittany without looking like she pooped her pants.

The night before the show, they're in the studio, and it's almost midnight. Santana has missed her cue for the third time in a row, and the whole production comes to a screeching halt around her.

"Cut!" Shouts Mike, throwing his hat on the floor. "Santana, what the fuck?!"

Mike storms out, and Santana doesn't even bother to defend herself. As she stands helplessly in the middle of the room, Brittany approaches her. She stomps off, desperate to avoid confrontation, and out the door, and into the late night air.

When she gets back to the room, there's a subdued atmosphere. Mike walks up to her first, his face dark.

"What did you say to her, Santana?!"

He's yelling now, and Santana would be pissed off if she weren't so confused.

"What are you talking about Chang?"

"Brittany! She just gave her part to one of the other dancers, who's nowhere near as good as her, and not a quarter as practiced. No offense, Tina."

"None taken." Tina whispers.

"So, you better hope nothing goes wrong tomorrow, Santana."

He storms off, grabbing Tina, and pulling her in another direction, presumably to run her through the steps she's going to make it during the performance.

There are several grumbles, but no one dares make eye contact with Santana. That is until Mercedes and Sugar show up.

"What are you doing, Satan?" Mercedes asks, leaning a fist on her hip.

"Look 'Cedes, lay off, okay? I can't deal with this. Everything has to go right tomorrow."

"We've seen you with a crush before Santana, this is more than that. You have to talk to her." Sugar says.

"Talk to her? Do you really think we can get her back in time for the show? She probably hates me. I made her give up the biggest opportunity of her life, just because I couldn't get my shit together!"

"Santana, do you think we're talking about the show? You know Mike, he likes to worry. I've seen Tina dance, she'll kill it. We're talking about you going after Brittany because you like her. Because she might mean something to you."

"Really?" Santana asks, raising an eyebrow.

Sugar slaps her softly on the arm. "Uh, duh!"

Santana pipes up at this, and runs after Mike, determined. Mercedes and Sugar share a look, they hope it can all come together before kickoff.

\

The next nineteen hours are a blur and whirlwind of activity. Santana had once again thrown herself into her work, but also kept an eye out for Brittany, whose number she totally failed getting from Mike on the basis that:

"She doesn't want to talk to you. Like, at all."

So, during the day, Santana gets about half a dozen tiny glimpses of the blonde, but not enough to string together a coherent thought, much less a complete sentence, so the words that she had settled on were left unsaid.

As Mercedes and Sugar had predicted, Tina had really come into her own, taking on the performance in a spectacular way. She wasn't as good as Brittany had been, but Santana didn't found herself falling over her, and that was good, at least.

As the lights go down over the stadium to signal the end of the first half of the game, the platform that is going to raise them onto the field is abuzz with activity, Santana takes a moment and looked at the nearby clock. They have five minutes before everything explodes, and the world belongs to the Troubletones.

There are hands all over her; fixing her makeup. Straightening her hair. Pulling at her clothes. She bats them away and takes a few steps over to a table, reaching for a bottle of water.

A hand reaches out at the same time and brushes against hers.

"Sorry."

Santana turns and reaches the bottle out.

"No worries, I only came here to-"

Her breath is stuck in her throat. It's Brittany.

Brittany who is rapidly backing away from her.

"Brittany, wait!" she call out. Shuffling after her. The countdown clock is slowly ticking away.

 _1:42_

Brittany stops, and turns back around. Her face is as confused as Santana has ever seen it.

"You want to talk to me?"

"What?" Now it's Santana's turn to be confused.

"After what I said. After I made everything awkward."

The din around them increases in volume as the crowd outside becomes restless.

"What?" This was less for clarification and more for actual repetition. She can barely hear Brittany now.

 _1:30_

Santana realizes she only has a few more moments before she'll have to be rushed onto the stage, and before the sound becomes completely unbearable.

"I like you, Brittany!" She shouts, searching Brittany's face for understanding. "I'm sorry!"

Brittany looks like she wants to respond, but the lights flicker and Santana knows there's no time left. She casts hopeful look back at Brittany, and allows her team to drag her away. She hopes that Brittany understands.

Less than thirty seconds later, she stands on the stage, getting strapped into harnesses. Watching the pyrotechnic display being prepared. Shouting at Mercedes to hold on to her weave. It's going to be amazing.

The show is amazing (of course, it's the Troubletones), and Santana even manages to catch small glances of Brittany here and there.

Near the last act, as they're waiting for the lights to come up again, they stage is set like a Hawaiian beach. All palm trees. Sandy shores.

Santana knows her cues, and hits all her marks. Beside her stand two of the backup dancers in shark costumes, dancing to the beat. They're supposed to be following her moves, and one is right on target. The other starts off fine, and then starts just dancing crazily. All sharp movements and an impromptu pop and lock routine that has the crowd going crazy. If Santana wasn't so entertained, she might have been pissed.

The crowd goes wild, and the popular shark takes an extra bow. They descend back into the field.

Everyone is up and congratulating them even before the platform hits the ground. Santana goes to change, but keeps her eyes open for Brittany.

In the meantime the shark had stolen America's heart. The hashtag #leftshark was taking over Twitter, and there was already a meme based off of it.

Santana has a grin on her face as she passes some of the dancers changing, and sees Matt, the shark who had been following all his cues.

"Matt! Who was that tearing up on the other side of me? People were going crazy for that!"

Matt points and Santana's attention is drawn to the other side of the room. There's Brittany, shark legs still on, hair sweaty and sticking to her forehead from the exertion and being in the bulky suit.

The smile slips from Santana's lips for a moment, and comes back even stronger. She bounds over to Brittany.

"Britt! That was amazing. Everybody loved you!"

Brittany smiled, cocking her head to the side. "You think?"

"I do! You were amazing. Thanks for making the show even better. Thanks for coming back."

"Of course, Santana. I couldn't leave you hanging."

The excitement ebbing away a bit, Santana plays with the edge of her dress.

"I meant what I said earlier, Britt. I really like you. I hope that's okay."

"Okay? San-"

They're interrupted again by Santana's team. She needs to get changed for the afterparty.

 _Goddammit._

"Can we talk later?" Santana shouts behind her.

Brittany nods excitedly and gives Santana a little wave.

\

Later at the party, the room is buzzing. Everyone is talking about how much of a success the show was, and how #leftshark is building in retweets by the hour. Every time Santana sees her roaming around, Brittany is just not able to crack through the wall of people surrounding Santana. And when Santana is free, Brittany is being absolutely mauled by reporters.

It's at one such moment that Santana finds herself at the bar, tapping a finger, and waiting on a drink.

"You know, you can get someone to do that for you."

Santana turns and gives Mercedes a grim smile.

"I know, but I had to get out of there, you know?"

Mercedes nods and settles in close to Santana. "Have you had a chance to talk to her yet?"

"No." Santana sighs. "Maybe I can ask Mike to bring her on for the tour. But then again, it won't be starting for a few months yet. I don't even know where she lives, Mercedes. What if tonight is the last time I get to see her?"

Mercedes chuckles. "Don't be ridiculous, Santana. Besides us, Left Shark is the biggest name in this show. They're going crazy over her. Of course we're going to take her on tour."

Santana just sighs again, and snaps at the bartender, who still hasn't brought her her drink.

"Santana-" Mercedes starts, with a warning in her voice.

Santana can't take it anymore. The tension of the night, the stress of the week, the thing with Brittany, they all catch up with her, and she sends a stack of napkins flying.

"Just lay off, Mercedes, okay?" She's not loud, but Santana's voice brokers no argument. She spins on her heel, and heads out the nearest door to the exit. The cool wind hitting her face.

She can finally breathe again.

A few minutes later, Santana hears the door open behind her.

"Save it, Mercedes, I know. I'm sorry, all right? I've just got her in my head, and I don't know how to get her out."

"Well, there are worse things than having someone on your mind."

The voice startles Santana. It's Brittany, of course.

Santana slumps wearily against the wall, ashamed.

"I've messed everything up, I'm sorry."

Brittany walks over and stands beside Santana. Close enough to touch her, but she doesn't reach out.

"I wanted to talk to you for a while. Did you know that?"

Santana blinks. "No. What do you mean?"

"The first time I saw you, actually. But I don't think you saw me. Mike was introducing you to the new dancers, and you were looking for at your phone the whole time."

Santana laughs. "Would you believe I noticed you right away? I only pretended there was something on my phone worth doing, so you wouldn't see me stare."

Now Brittany laughs, and they lapse into silence.

"You did really good tonight." Santana breathes. She turns towards Brittany ever so slightly.

"Are you kidding? I was about to say the same thing about you." Brittany says.

They sit for a few moments more.

"Did you mean what you said, that you really like me?" Brittany's voice is so small, so timid. Santana can't help it. She turns fully to Brittany, taking her hands in her own.

"I mean it, Brittany. I know we've only known each other for a few days-"

"And you're like one of the biggest pop stars on the planet."

They both laugh.

"Well, that too, but I want to take you on a date."

Santana smiles at the faint blush that colors Brittany's face.

"On a date?" Brittany echoes.

"If you want."

Santana gets her answer, as Brittany wraps her arms around her, and nuzzles into her neck.

"I'd love to."

"Great! First, just give me your number!"

They both laugh again, and Santana pulls her cell phone out of her small clutch, and Brittany takes it, programming her number in.

Much later that night, after they refused to be separated again, and spent the rest of the evening drinking too much, and touching too much. Santana finally finds her way into a limousine, and heads back to the five star hotel the NFL has so graciously provided.

She shucks her shoes, and slips out of her dress, and is washing her face when her phone chimes with the notification of an unread message.

She's not expecting a message, but has been getting them all night from friends and family, congratulating her. It's probably Rachel on the West Coast. That woman has no appreciation for the time difference.

She unlocks her phone.

 _Left Shark: One unread message_

She smiles and opens the message.

 _Left Shark: Did you know they have us all in the same hotel?_

Santana's smile almost splits her cheeks she's grinning so hard.

 _I didn't. Where are you?_

She only has to wait a few moments before the phone buzzes again.

 _I'm on my way up. Mercedes told me your room number_.

Santana bounds over to the door, and throws it open, and is greeted by Brittany making her way down the hall. She waves away the guard posted there and invites her in.

"I brought ice cream. Rocky Road. Your favorite." Brittany smiles, and ducks her head shyly.

"How'd you remember?"

"I remember everything about you, Santana."

Now Santana ducks her head, and grabs the bag out of Brittany's hand.

"I think they have some strawberry cheesecake in the freezer. I know that's _your_ favorite."

Brittany gasps, surprised but not.

Santana rushes back into the room with the two cartons, and some spoons.

"How about we enjoy these, and watch a scary movie?"

Brittany grabs her carton and a spoon, and plops down couch. "Sounds like a plan. As long as you don't mind me cowering behind you."

Santana only smiles, scooting in close to Brittany. "I'm sure I won't mind it at all."


End file.
